


I Forgive You

by asarcasticwitch



Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Begging, Brat Stiles Stilinski, Consensual Kink, Dom Peter Hale, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Forgiveness, Good Peter Hale, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mates, Not Beta Read, Older Man/Younger Man, POV Third Person, Paddling, Pain, Punishment, Restraints, Roughness, Sadistic Peter Hale, Safewords, Spanking, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Sub Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/pseuds/asarcasticwitch
Summary: Now, twenty swats of Peter’s hand later, he’s seriously cursing his penchant for being a little shit. His ass is burning, the sharp sting blooming across both cheeks and down to the crease at the top of his thighs. He’s sore, writhing, and very nearly weeping as the wolf serves his punishment.The punishment he pretty much asked for.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837195
Comments: 8
Kudos: 170
Collections: Teen Wolf Bingo





	I Forgive You

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the 'Make Me' square on my Teen Wolf Bingo card.
> 
> Never written punishments before, so this is a first for me. It's just something quick I rustled up 'cause I needed to write something but couldn't be bothered mapping out a long drawn out fic. It's short and doesn't really explain much as I didn't want to delve too deep into something I'm not overly confident with. I did do my research—mixed with some personal experiences—but I wanted to keep it as minimal as possible, so I wasn't babbling as I usually do.
> 
> I don't have a Beta; I'm using Grammarly so expect mistakes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy!

The petulant words had escaped his lips before he could stop them.

 _‘Make me.’_ He had snarled, venom dripping from each syllable, almost spitting in Peter’s face with the vehemence he put into the verbal attack. 

Peter had asked— _ordered_ —him to take his disobedient ass upstairs, lay on the bed, and ready himself for his penance, but he just hadn’t been in the mood to go willingly; he wanted to put up a fight. 

Now, twenty swats of Peter’s hand later, he’s seriously cursing his penchant for being a little shit. His ass is burning, the sharp sting blooming across both cheeks and down to the crease at the top of his thighs. He’s sore, writhing, and very nearly weeping as the wolf serves his punishment.

The punishment he pretty much asked for. 

_‘Make you, huh? Oh, I can make you, sweet boy.’_ Peter had purred, that smug grin of his curling his lips in the most devilish way. Stiles’ sneer had dropped, his face paling at the Alpha’s sudden placidity, each prowling step forward making him shiver. _‘I can make you do whatever I please.’_

The way his wolf had gazed upon him at that moment would've put Satan to shame. The most gloating, self-satisfied smirk Stiles has ever seen on the man twisting his face wickedly. It made him want to run and hide, but he knows better than to run from a wolf.

Stiles stood his ground rather valiantly—if he does say so himself—as Peter made good on his word and dragged him, kicking and squirming, into their bedroom, but he was no match for his mates supernatural strength.

He was stripped, manhandled into the typical presenting position, and chained to the headboard within record timing; he’d have laughed at himself for even thinking he could compete with the man, had he not been too riled up for humor.

At this point, Stiles isn’t one hundred percent sure what started all this—apart from those two goading words and a helluva lot of pettiness. If he thought about it hard enough, he could remember, but his brain is scrambling and restarting with every smack of Peter’s hand, making it difficult to ponder the technicalities.

He more than likely broke one of Peter's rules, like put himself in unnecessary danger— _that actually rings a bell_ —or forgot to take care of himself when the Alpha wasn’t around to spectate.

The brattiness most definitely didn’t help his plight, whatever the cause.

Peter would never punish him without reason, even though they both know he gets hard for Stiles’ pain. Well, not _actual_ pain; the wolf would never harm him in a way that Stiles hadn’t first consented to or found hints of his own pleasure in, but he still enjoys the desperate cries, the tearful begging for mercy.

He’s a sadist; it works for them both. 

“Are you ready to be sweet, Stiles?” Peter leans down to murmur into his ear, snapping him from his thoughts. His arms are at either side of his shoulders, pinning him further into the mattress. “Ready to beg for your Alphas forgiveness for running into a coven of witches _alone_ , armed with nothing but sarcasm and a baseball bat?”

Ah yes, it’s all flooding back to him now.

Peter hadn’t been best pleased when he decided to tackle the latest threat to their pack on his own without so much as a prior warning or back-up plan. Luckily, with their bond, Peter was able to find him and help before he got himself killed. Stiles hadn’t fully anticipated how arduous it would be to clear out a whole coven of witches; he thought he could sneak out, do what needed to be done and be back in time for dinner, but as always, he didn’t sit down to weigh the pro and cons before setting out on his escapade.

Yet again, he was a little over-ambitious and _a lot_ over-confident in his abilities.

To say Peter was furious is a gross understatement.

_Oops._

Stiles grits his teeth together as Peter's jeans scrape across his sensitive skin. Seething, he spits out, “Go fuck yourself.”

He can’t help himself. Provoking Peter is in his nature; it’s almost a given that every time the man opens his mouth, Stiles will retort with something witty or sarcastic. It’s as if his life’s ambition is to vex him, to go against everything Peter says just for the kicks he gets for being difficult.

This time though, he’s going all out, it would seem.

Peter’s chuckle is dark and predatory, the amused curve of his mouth grazing Stiles’ sweat-slicked cheek. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Peter gets off on him having an attitude; he likes being challenged, even if it’s from a human. His Alpha instincts thrive on his mate having a bit of bite—a bit of backbone. He wouldn’t know what to do with someone meek and mild or someone who’s submissive without resistance. He needs a mate who’ll not balk at the first hint of his animalistic side, who can cope with his particular brand of dominance without quivering in fear. He needs someone who’s not afraid to stand up to him instead of bending to his every whim without so much as a word to the contrary.

Luckily for him, Stiles is all of that and more. 

Stiles gulps audibly, his throat suddenly dry as the air around him goes cold, Peter having moved away from behind him to collect something from the drawer.

_Oh shit._

Turning his head slightly, he catches a glimpse of the ridged bamboo in Peter’s hand, eyes widening as he brings the smooth thickness down on his own skin with a resounding slap. 

The paddle.

He won’t lie and say it doesn’t stir something in his gut, stoking those consistent embers lying dormant awaiting to burst into searing flames but now is not the time for arousal.

His ass is already raw; the rational part of his brain is screaming at him to yield, just to give in and apologize for his transgressions.

But he doesn’t.

The stubborn part of him lifts his chin in defiance, spreading his legs a little wider, arching his back just a touch more to show the wolf that he’s ready for whatever he’s got.

“Oh, I can’t wait for you to beg, sweetheart,” Peter muses, sauntering forwards as he reveres his handiwork with a filthy smile. “It’s going to be glorious.”

Stiles huffs in indignation. “Just get on with it.”

Before the words are even out of his mouth, Peter lunges on him, his fingers tangling into his hair, tugging harshly to arch his neck backward.

Stiles yelps at the sting, straining uselessly against the restraints around his wrists on impulse.

His body settles it’s instinctive struggling as soon as the wolfs fangs ghost over the spot above his collarbone, every muscle in his body seizing up as his heart threatens to pound out of his chest.

“You don’t want to antagonize me any further, Stiles,” Peter warns, a low growl rumbling in his chest, the vibration resonating deep through Stiles’ core. “I’m a very patient man, and if it takes all night for you to surrender to me, then so be it... but I promise it won’t be pleasant for you.”

Whatever smart ass remark he had bubbling up his throat dies on his tongue, he may not have the best sense of self-preservation, but right now, he doesn’t want to push his luck.

So far, Peter has actually been pretty mild, and he’d quite like to keep it that way. All night punishment usually results in ruined orgasms or a vibrator buzzing against his prostate until he’s coming dry and crying from extreme overstimulation. Neither of which are particularly pleasant, especially when paired with the other things Peter likes to subject him to—he can be ruthless—so he decides to just accept his fate in the form of a rough paddling.

“Yes, Alpha,” he affirms, bowing his head and biting his lip to stop himself from getting into more trouble.

“Good,” Peter strokes his hair gently before standing up straight. “I think we’ll start with fifteen, see where that gets us, hm?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answers shakily, a shudder running through him.

He can do fifteen; he’s done it before. Hell, he’s gotten to thirty before without safe-wording. Granted, he hadn’t already taken twenty brutal spanks from Peter’s palm first, but he’s sure he can get through it with deep breaths and good ole fashioned spite.

“Count for me, nice and loud, or I’ll start over,” Peter reminds him before landing the first swing right in the middle of both cheeks.

Stiles squawks, unprepared for the resounding _thud,_ but he collects himself quickly, not wanting to risk irking the man further by delaying his counting. “One.”

He’s actually minutely grateful for the warm-up from Peter’s hand—however unintentional it was—but he’ll never admit that out loud.

The first five are rather uneventful. Yes, they burn like the hottest pits of hell, but he doesn’t feel much worse for wear.

Once he gets to ten, however, he starts questioning his life choices but grinds his teeth together to stop himself from begging.

He won’t give Peter what he wants, not yet. He’s not a far cry from that 'dissolved-of-all-my-sins' headspace that usually crashes over him after receiving the acceptable amount of punishment, but he still has a ways to go.

He’ll only give in when he actually gives a shit about Peter’s forgiveness—when he feels regretful for defying him—but right now, he’s still a little salty.

“El-eleven,” he groans, thighs threatening to give up beneath him as he endeavors to stay in position.

“Louder,” Peter chirps, a little too gleefully for Stiles’ liking.

It makes him see red.

“Eleven,” he shouts, cursing internally when his voice breaks, showing Peter just how affected he is.

The wolf snorts, no doubt sensing his inner turmoil—his hot-headed stubbornness preventing him from submitting.

He’ll be loving every minute of this; he’s never been secretive of his fondness for how it takes Stiles longer than most to break.

The fifteenth hit has tears gathering in his eyes, the sad little droplets clinging to his lashes like a lifeline, unwilling to slip down his flushed cheeks. It’s safe to say his ass is way past the point of feeling tender; it’s absolutely throbbing. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” Peter comments, voice an awed hush as if the words were destined to be left unspoken. His fingers trail over the bruising welts he’s left in his path, a rumbling purr escaping his throat as he traces the raw outlines left on Stiles’ flesh. “Have you learned you’re lesson yet, sweetheart?”

Stiles growls through his teeth to stop himself from whimpering, a sound animal enough to put a wolf to shame.

With every blistering sting, his anger seems to rise higher, his childish behavior increasing with every swat. “No,” is all he says, and to be honest, he might need to have a word with himself after this, maybe reevaluate his priorities.

Peter sighs, long and put out, but Stiles doesn’t need to see the man to know he’s relishing in this reaction, dick probably hard enough to drill through marble as he hums in thought. “I think ten more should suffice.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything; he wasn’t asked a question, after all, so he just screws his eyes shut, praying to whatever deity that’ll listen that Peter won’t draw it out.

The effort of prayer is futile.

Peter takes his time—because, of course, he does. He never rushes anything; he’s meticulous in everything he does, a perfectionist at heart. He would never just swing wildly at Stiles’ ass, giving him no chance to feel the power behind each hit when he can take it slow and get his point across thoroughly.

The nineteenth hit has him wailing, unable to keep his noises locked in his throat as Peter refuses to lessen the force of each swat.

Supernatural stamina be damned. The man probably doesn’t feel anything more than a slight irritation in his shoulder—if he even feels anything at all aside from pleasure.

“Please,” he hears himself whisper, the word passing his abused, bitten lips unbidden. “Please.”

He’s _almost_ ready to beg, getting so close to pleading Peter for mercy that he can taste it. The deep pang of regret is building in the pit of his stomach as his perseverance finally eases, giving way to the desire for absolution.

“Please what, baby?” Peter asks as he stops momentarily, determined to hear an apology from Stiles’ lips. 

“I-” he huffs in frustration, unsure how to answer the question. He wants to offer his remorse, but the words won’t leave him.

Not yet.

Peter takes pity on him, sensing the almost instantaneous change in his demeanor. He’s no longer battling against him; he’s finally conceding the penalty for his actions. “Six more, sweetheart,” he coos, voice losing its smug undertone at Stiles’ close willingness to yield. “Six more, and you’re done.”

Stiles sniffles, nodding his head as he prepares for the final stretch.

At twenty-two, he’s sobbing uncontrollably, his body shaking with the force of his cries. He’d like to say his ass has gone numb, but he isn’t so lucky. He feels like he’s been set on fire, his skin searing to the point of white-hot agony.

It’s unbearable.

“Pl-please, Peter... please,” he hiccups into the tear-soaked bedding, arms long since collapsed under him, his knees having also buckled on the last strike. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please stop, I can’t-”

“Shhh, sweet boy, that’s it,” Peters soothes him, his hand rubbing circles into his back to ground him. “You’re such a good boy for me, taking your punishment so well.”

Stiles would normally preen at the pet name; being Peter’s _good boy_ is something that never fails to light up every single one of his nerve endings in a pleasurable tingle, but right now, he can’t bring himself to even process the words.

Peter allows him a moment before speaking again, voice a soft, encouraging caress. “Do you need to safeword, sweetheart?”

He wants to; God, does he want to just end it here. Succumb to his body’s desperate pleas of mercy, to fall boneless onto the bed and recover for the next few days.

Peter wouldn’t think any less of him, would still shower him with love and compliments even if he stopped now. But he wouldn’t be forgiven, and that, suddenly, is what matters most.

Giving up might be what he _wants,_ but it’s not what he _needs._ What he needs is Peter’s forgiveness; what he needs is the praise Peter is giving him to have been rightfully earned.

If he gives up now, he’ll lie awake tonight feeling like shit, like he’s disappointed his Alpha for failing to take the punishment that he deserves.

He only has three more swats; he can grin and bear it; he can do it.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head, taking deep breaths to steady himself, pulling his limbs back into position with a wince. “Only three more, I-I can do it, Alpha.”

Stiles hears the pride in Peter’s voice as he speaks. “I know you can, my perfect boy.”

He tries to relax as best he can, knowing from experience that it only hurts more when he clenches. He tries to think of how proud Peter will be of him, how proud he'll be of himself.

Peter forgiving him for his misdeeds, embracing him tightly, and whispering sweet nothings into his ear as he floats into a tranquil slumber is what his mind supplies him as a distraction through the final hits.

“Tw-Twenty-Th-three,” he whimpers, fingers clenched into the bedding, knuckles turning white with the sheer force of his grip.

The chains around his wrists provide him something else to focus on, the metal jingling as he’s jostled up the bed.

He bites his tongue on the next, the copper tang of blood bursting in his mouth as he mumbles out the penultimate number.

Stiles braces himself for the final hit, every muscle vibrating with the anticipation of the end.

The echoing of the wood smacking against his no doubt bruised skin rings between his ears; his unrestrained sobs now drowned out behind panting breaths, relief washing through him as he mumbles an almost silent, “Twenty-Five”.

He goes limp, falling onto the damp sheets below, every ounce of strength he has left abandoning ship as his muscles turn to liquid.

“I’m sorry, Alpha,” he begins babbling under his breath after a pause, words almost incoherent with how he’s floating in and out of consciousness. “I’ve learned my lesson; I won’t break the rules again, pl-please forgive me.”

He barely registers Peter un-cuffing him, only noticing his change of position when the man’s warm breath fans over his forehead. 

He’s sprawled atop the Alphas chest, his ear resting above his heart. The steady _beat, beat, beat_ sedates him, distracts him from the excruciating ache, the violent shuddering of his frame evening out as he melts into Peter's devoted embrace.

Something chilled and wet is placed on his bottom lip, his Alpha urging him to open as his head is gradually tilted backward. Stiles complies, parting his mouth and moaning gratefully as water soothes his parched throat. He gulps down half the bottle, condensation dripping down his chin as he pulls away, muttering his appreciation as he lets his head drop. 

The wolf’s lips pepper sweet, adoring kisses to his cheeks and jaw in between choruses of genuine approval, sweet symphonies of love and admiration.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles manages to croak out more adamantly after a moment, blinking back to coherency, clearing the blur from his eyes as he looks up at Peter in shame. 

“I forgive you,” Peter places a delicate kiss on his lax mouth, wiping away his sorrow as softly murmured words dance between their lips. “I’ll always forgive you.” Peter’s arms curl around him protectively, grounding him, keeping him safe.

Stiles lets his lids flutter closed, the adrenaline draining from him as he settles, but a delightful buzz of pride still fizzes intensely in his gut.

“Rest, sweet boy.” Peter’s voice lulls him towards sleep, content that his mate will care for him, will give him everything he needs to heal before even thinking of resting himself.

Two words echo in his head as he drifts away, his mouth curling into a lazy, mischievous smile as his dreams take over.

_Make me._

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to end differently, it was also supposed to have smut in it, but I seem to start with a plan and go off in a completely different direction once I'm actually typing it out. 
> 
> If I have missed any tags or warnings, please let me know. 
> 
> Rest assured, Peter is so in sync with Stiles that he would stop everything if he thought Stiles was harming himself unnecessarily. There's also a shit ton more aftercare behind the scenes, but again, I didn't want to make this fic too long.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr at [asarcasticwitch](http://asarcasticwitch.tumblr.com) if you wanted to stop by for a visit. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
